


precipice (the trials and tribulations of s. harrington, certified fool, and w. hargrove, perpetually suffering)

by volantium



Series: the life and times [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista!Steve, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Mechanic!Billy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Anxiety and Depression, [gasp] they were roommates, also lowkey a coffee shop au, and there's only one bed! shocker, disclaimer: i haven't watched s3 so none of that exists here, i have a very soft spot for billy calling steve 'sugar' you've been warned, modern au because i need billy to have an instagram, the fake dating fic no one asked for but i wrote anyways, with a dash of enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volantium/pseuds/volantium
Summary: Billy and Steve got the hell out of dodge the minute after their high school graduation had finished. Hawkins is not even a blip on the radar of their small, two-bedroom apartment nestled in the Chicago backstreets for the last five years.But there’s something to be said about escaping your own personal hell with someone who you can’t stand but, end up sticking with anyways.So, of course, all that history swirling between them is what causes Steve to blurt out, “I’m dating Billy,” when Dustin asks if he’s bringing a plus one back for Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding, despite it being the furthest thing from the truth.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, background Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair - Relationship, background Nancy Wheeler/Jonathan Byers - Relationship
Series: the life and times [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947811
Comments: 50
Kudos: 315





	precipice (the trials and tribulations of s. harrington, certified fool, and w. hargrove, perpetually suffering)

Billy and Steve got the hell out of dodge the minute after their high school graduation had finished. Hawkins is not even a blip on the radar of their small, two-bedroom apartment nestled in the Chicago backstreets for the last five years.

But there’s something to be said about escaping your own personal hell with someone who you can’t stand, but end up sticking with anyways.

So, of course, all that history swirling between them is what causes Steve to blurt out, “I’m dating Billy,” when Dustin asks if he’s bringing a plus one back for Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding, despite it being the furthest thing from the truth.

“I – Steve – you’re _dating_ Billy?” Dustin replies, no small amount of apprehension clouding his voice, even through the staticky FaceTime connection. “Billy Hargrove?”

Gut-twisting panic _what-the-fuck_ swoops through him so fast Steve feels nauseous. Dustin’s looking at him askance, the look in his eye nothing but bewildered and, honestly, the kid’s fucking right.

“Uh – yes.”

“Since when?”  
  
“It’s been,” Steve can’t meet Dustin’s eye, casts wildly around for words to say that make more sense than _I’m dating Billy._ “A few weeks.”

Dustin gapes like a fish. It would be amusing, if Steve didn’t know the truth.

Billy’s going to murder him.

* * *

The thing is, Steve won’t admit, is that it’s not the first time he’s thought it.

The thing is, Steve won’t admit, is that somehow over the last five years, _home_ has become synonymous with spark-bright blue eyes and golden curls and port tobacco and a car older than either of them and _Billy._

The thing is, Steve won’t admit, is that it _fucking terrifies him._

* * *

By the time Steve hears Billy unlock the front door and the scrape of it against the concrete floor, it’s been over twelve hours since the video chat with Dustin. In between now and then, Steve’s pulled a five hour shift at Pine _,_ the café downtown that he’s worked at since moving here, spent about two on the couch underneath the weighted blanket Nancy got him last Christmas, and has stress-ate two pints of Ben and Jerry’s.

He knows what he looks like, and it’s nothing short of a hot mess.

There’s a thump from the hallway, which Steve knows is Billy kicking off his boots against the wall, because no matter how many times he asks Billy not to, he keeps doing it. He knows, because he’s the one to clean up the fucking oil Billy smears _everywhere_ after every single shift at the garage.

He tracks the sounds of Billy through the apartment. He has a routine. Kick boots into wall, into the bathroom for a shower – because despite being a mechanic, happy to leave shit all over their front entrance, God fucking _forbid_ Billy be caked in the stuff one second longer than absolutely necessary – to the kitchen to grab a beer, and then, finally into the loungeroom.

“Oh, boy,” Billy cracks, taking in the sad sight of Steve. “Who died?”

Steve is filled with the sudden urge to reply _me, because I told Dustin we’re dating and you’re going to hate me,_ but that seems too dramatic, even for him.

He still hasn’t figured out how to tell Billy.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches Billy fish around for the television remote amongst all the rubbish on the coffee table, empty ice cream containers and paper take out cups with Pine’s logo scrawled on the side. Billy sinks into his chair, a massive Lazy-Boy thing that is comfier than either of their beds – not that Steve would know what Billy’s mattress feels like, no matter how much he wishes he does – and take a swig from his drink.

“What’s up with you, Harrington?”

The television flickers with static as the channel changes.

“You know how Nancy and Jonathan are getting married?”

“Yeah, that’s soon, right?”

Steve almost snorts, because he knows Billy knows it’s soon, the invitation has been hanging from a _I <3 NY _magnet on their fridge for four months.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve confirms, feeling awkward. “I spoke to Dustin about it today.”

The news starts playing in the background. The segment starts with an ambulance siren cutting through the silence, and the television pops as the audio peaks.

“What’d the kid want?”

Steve can start feeling the panic crawl its way up his throat, manages to choke out, “He asked me if I was going with anyone.”

“And?” Billy hasn’t even agreed to go, was only invited as a courtesy to Steve, who had to _beg_ Nancy for the invitation in the first place.

“Imayhavesaidweweredating.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Billy go very, very still.

The television gets louder.

“You what?” Ah, there it is, that famed Hargrove anger.

“I,” Steve takes a deep breath. “I told him we were –”

Billy speaks over him, “Dating?”

Steve can barely breath, nods his head instead.

Steve wants to melt into the ground and not return. The feeling is so strong that he hides his face in his arms, feeling too raw and _seen_ by Billy’s silence. It’s not like they’re _that_ close. Sure, they’re best friends _now_ , but it’s only been that way for a couple of years, after intense exposure to their shared flaws and pet peeves and everything else that comes with having a housemate. They _hated_ each other in the beginning.

Besides, there’s still so much Billy doesn’t know. That Steve hasn’t told him. Like the reason why Billy will sometimes find him sitting in the kitchen with all the lights on at three in the morning, staring into nothing. Like how he hasn’t taken a bath since they moved in, despite complaining about being sore everywhere from running around the café all day.

Sometimes it surprises Steve how long he’s lasted without breaking down and telling Billy about the Upside Down.

“What the fuck, Harrington!?”

Billy explodes from his seat, and for a split-second Steve is overcome with fear. _Where’s the exit, how do I get out without tripping over the rug, which way do I escape the fastest, oh God, he’s going to hit me –_

Except Billy just stands there, hands clenched at his sides, beer spilling from the knocked over can at his feet.

Except Billy leaves the room, and Steve feels like crying.

It’s been ten minutes, and Steve hasn’t moved. He’s curled up underneath the blankets, fingers curled into the sheets as if to pull them off but frozen halfway through.

And then Billy comes back in. There’s a towel in his hands. He’s bending down, cleaning up the spilt alcohol, and –

Steve is at a loss.

He isn’t used to _this_ Billy, who apparently spent ten minutes coming to terms with the fact that his housemate just told the kid he used to babysit that they’re dating before deciding to come back, not to talk about it, but to clean up a knocked over beer can.

The Billy he’s used to _would’ve_ hit him.

But, then again, it’s been five years.

Billy leaves the room again, sodden towel, can and all, comes back with _another_ pint of Ben and Jerry’s that he shoves into Steve’s hands.

“What?” Is Steve’s blindsided question, clutching the container of Half Baked.

Billy looks at him, feels like he sees right through him, and asks, “Why?”

Steve shakes his head, not wanting to talk, not wanting to confess.

Billy misinterprets it.

“You don’t know?” He asks, incredulous.

It only takes Steve a minute to think about it.

Because there’s no way he’s going to tell Billy about how he feels, not in a million years. There’s no way he’s going to even so much as breath a word of it. There’s no way he can say out loud that he’s so fucking sick of Dustin looking at him with those eyes when he thinks Steve isn't looking. Something like pity. Like it’s a bad thing Steve’s still single. Like he’s _lonely._

(Steve would never admit that Dustin is _right._ )

It only takes Steve a minute to run with it.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders, tries to play it nonchalant, like he hasn’t already had a panic attack about this. “I’ll pay your rent for three months.”

“Four.”

“Okay.”

“And I get free coffee.”  
  
“Billy –”

“And I get free coffee, or you have to tell Dustin, who’s probably already told everyone else, that you made it up and you won’t have me to suffer with through your ex-girlfriend’s wedding.”

Billy should’ve been on the debate team, Steve thinks idly.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, heaving a sigh to he seals his fate. "Fine." 

* * *

Steve has given Billy space, the last few days, and he is glad for it when Billy magically appears at the counter of Pine just before his shift is about to finish.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy says, and oh, this is familiar. Steve can work with this.

“Hi,” he replies, already pulling a shot of espresso for Billy’s drink.

They haven’t really talked since that night in front of the television. Steve’s been on edge about it, but if Billy’s coming in here saying _pretty boy_ then things must be okay.

It’s mid-afternoon, just after the rush. The shop is quiet, [lo-fi playing in the background.](https://youtu.be/G7pdq0n0--4) Steve's in front, his boss out the back, prepping for tomorrow. A couple of college students are dotted around the place, studying, paying no attention to them.

“I knock off in five,” Steve says,

“Yeah, I know,” Billy says, and that makes Steve’s stomach flip, the realisation that Billy’s already picked up his new roster. “Walk home with me?”

It’s definitely framed as a question, but Steve feels incapable of saying no.

Steve rarely drives these days, not with the café a half-hour walk from the apartment, or the fact that Billy’s the one paying extra rent to use their allocated parking spot. He left the BMW in Hawkins the last time they visited.

Billy inhales his coffee like a lifeline.

“Dude, how the fuck do you drink that so fast?”

“The faster I drink the less the sugar rots my teeth.”

Steve laughs, head thrown back, “What?”

Billy shrugs, nose buried in the cup, but Steve can see the hint of a grin pulling at his mouth.

It feels like a weight of his chest, that things are really okay between them, despite Steve’s monumental fuck up. But he can tell Billy has something on his mind, in the way he’s been silent for the last five minutes, looking everywhere but at Steve.

“So,” Steve says, just to break the silence. “What’s up?”

It takes a moment for Billy to reply, “This wedding thing.”

“Oh.”

“Right.” Billy gives him a look somewhere between apoplectic and apprehensive. “We should sort out details.”

“I, uh –” Steve rubs the back of neck, uncomfortable. “I told Dustin we got together a few weeks ago.”

“That works.”

“What else?”

“Well, who asked who out? Why now, after we’ve been living together for five years? You know what the kids are like once they stick their noses into people’s business.”

That’s actually a fair point.

They spend the rest of the walk out doing just that. Because it was Steve’s idea, Steve was the one to ask Billy out. They’re first date had, ironically, been at a vegan café down the street from Pine. It’s still pretty early, so they’re still kind of feeling things out. They’ve been keeping it lowkey, in case it doesn’t work out. Also, the fact that even though LGBT rights have made leaps and bounds, it’s 2019, and Hawkin’s is still a small, homophobic town in the backwater of the Midwest. Living together first helped, in that they got to know each other as housemates first as and partners second.

 _Partners_ leaves a bitter taste in Steve’s mouth.

“You seem to be taking this better than I thought.” Steve confesses, unsure of how that lands. They’re almost home now, two minutes out from their building. Billy could just not reply.

Instead, Billy comes to a stop. Turns to him with an almost confused expression on his face, “It’s not like Hawkin’s hasn’t had rumours about it before.”

Which – that’s not the reply Steve was expect.

And it’s not like Billy is _wrong_ either.

Once they left Hawkins, and it got out that they had moved in together, shit hit the fan.

They really only know because of the kids, who thought it was more hilarious than malicious until Billy and Steve had looked at them with varying degrees of _are you fucking kidding_ during their monthly Facetime. 

“Everyone thinks you’re dating, you know.” Mike had laughed, unkindly, in a way that had Steve thinking he knew exactly how he sounded, because Mike knows Steve, and Steve knows how much of a little punk bitch his ex’s brother could be.

Dustin had snorted, and Steve could tell at least he was oblivious. Max, from over Lucas’ shoulder, had shot him a look, and it only takes Steve half a second to realise she’s trying to figure if the rumours are true.

“As if,” Billy had snorted, shook his head. “I hate him.”

“Ditto,” Steve had said. “I just needed someone to pay half of the rent.”  
  
“I told you,” Dustin said, glancing at Mike, confirmed Steve’s suspicions.

Later that same night, Max had texted Billy, a long-winded explanation of _your dad is pissed, do not come visit, he thinks you’ve shacked up with your boyfriend,_ and it was only then had they realised how serious the rumours were.

Hopefully they’ve died down in the past five years.

“Don’t get me wrong though,” Billy says, pulling Steve out of his head. “This is, undoubtedly, the most stupid thing you’ve ever done.”

Steve’s inclined to agree with him.

* * *

He gets the notification at work, his phone lighting up with **@hargrove mentioned you in their story.**

It takes him an hour to convince Olivia, his erstwhile protégé, to cover the counter AND the espresso machine for his measly fifteen-minute break. It takes him an hour and ten minutes to convince himself to swipe open the Instagram notification.

The screen is blank, for a blessed moment, and then Billy’s story fills the frame.

It’s –

It’s not at all what he expected, when Billy said he’d ‘put something in the works, to sow the seeds,’ before the drive down.

He was expecting something funny, something that could be up for interpretation, considering the fact that they _aren’t actually really dating_ but fuck – this is so, so much worse.

It’s from breakfast. A rare occurrence in itself, usually they’re both out of the house by five in the morning but today was Billy’s day off, and Steve had picked up a closing shift instead of his usual open, so. They’d had breakfast. Together. When Billy apparently took a picture of him without Steve even noticing.

There’s a filter over it, grainy and vintage monochrome. It’s taken from the counter, where their barstools are stashed and only ever used when they don’t have time to lounge in front of the television like proper twenty-four-year-olds with the morning off. He hadn’t even realised Billy had sat there, too caught up in what he was doing.

Kind of make sense, then, that he hadn’t noticed Billy taking the picture.

He’s making coffee, which isn’t unusual, considering the fact that he’s a barista, and a talented one at that, thank you very much. But he’s very noticeably making coffee for _two._

Billy has a sweet tooth, so bad that it pushes past sick and into downright offensive the amount of sugar he has in things, in Steve’s opinion. But it means Steve’s had ample practice in making the perfect mocha. So much so that it’s one of the most ordered things at Pine whenever he’s rostered. Billy had tried every combination Steve could conceive, before finally settling on a white chocolate-caramel concoction that had Steve thanking God he had ready access to all the supplies he could need to satisfy Billy’s sugar cravings. Steve, on the other hand, is very much a cappuccino on soy kind of guy.

From the side, Steve has to admit he looks good. The light catches the angle of his jaw, the flop of his hair boyishly charming, the stretch of his shirt that reveals a flash of hipbone as he reaches for the chocolate powder in the cupboard above. It’s that more than anything that gets him; the quiet intimacy of it, the suggestion of skin, the inherent tenderness of making coffee for someone you love in the morning, knowing the exact way they take it.

And hovering in the corner is a spate of emojis that could probably mean anything if they weren’t preceded by the very innocuous statement of **so good to me @kingsteve.**

It makes them look like a couple.

Steve can’t even find the words to explain how he feels about it. Warmth pools in his gut, makes him feel twelve again, the same way when your crush would wave at you across the classroom or something. But it fades with the knowledge that this is only temporary, pretend, _fake,_ because Steve couldn’t help but run his mouth.

It’s really the beginning of the end.

Or, rather, the beginning of the end as orchestrated by Steve’s own foolish hand.

* * *

The thing is, a while ago they spoke about breaking the lease, about finding different housemates.

It’s a conversation they’ve had more times than Steve can count – God knows that in the early days of their cohabitation they fought tooth and fucking nail.

He still can’t really wrap his head around the fact that Billy agreed to his plan, to move to Chicago with him.

Steve had thought it up out of the blue, had blurted it out to Billy before even considering the implications of what “move with me to Chicago” even meant.

He just wanted to escape. Hawkins. His parents, their house, the pool. Nancy, Jonathan. The Upside Down.

All of it.

Billy seemed to be the only other person around his age who agreed.

So they’d packed up their respective cars, because there was no way in hell Steve was about to spend three hours in a car with Billy fucking Hargrove. They’d spent the first week in a dingy motel off the freeway, scouring for a place to live, and a job.

Billy, by virtue of owning a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro, scored the job at the garage before he’d even finished the interview. He’d already done his own mechanics, anyway, so now he was just getting paid to do other peoples.

They found their apartment not long after that. It’s small, but it has two bedrooms and a functioning thermostat, so they hadn’t complained.

It took a little while longer for Steve to find employment, not for lack of trying. Those weeks were the worst. The harder Steve looked the more useless he felt, the more his anxiety spiralled, the increasing frequency of nightmares, then more late nights, less sleep.

Billy hadn’t understood then. How could he? It’s not like Billy’s ever had to stare down the gaping maw of a Demodog.

They lashed out at each, more often than not. It was all they knew, the only way they could communicate, high school fighting and teenage angst. Steve thinks about their fight in the Byer’s kitchen so many times he could watch it with his eyes open.

Often, Billy would go on hour-long drives, and Steve would wonder if _this_ one would be the one he never came back from. Often, Steve would go for hour-long walks, and Billy would wonder if _this_ one would be the one he never came back from.

The blame is equal between them. Both at fault, for all their petty fights and thrown punches. You can live with someone, but that doesn’t make you like them. It took the combined effort of Max, Dustin, and maxed-out work hours for that to happen.

Steve had been walking to the shops the day he stumbled across Pine, and the hiring advert in the window.

Five years later, and he’s an assistant manager, teaching Olivia all he knows. 

Five years later, and Billy still lives with him, despite everything.

* * *

His last shift at Pine before their trip to Indiana is the worst.

He tells Olivia, God bless her soul, because not only is she his protégé, but also one of his best friends in Chicago. She’s only a handful of years younger than him, working part-time while studying, fresh to the barista business and clearly eager to learn. 

He tells Olivia because he’s not sure he can make it through the next week without someone to scream at about how he’s _fake dating his housemate and best friend, who just so happens to be Billy Hargrove._

Not that Olivia knows Billy’s reputation. Only what Steve has told her. That might actually be worse.

He hears the Camaro’s engine well before the time they agreed to leave. Which means only one thing.

Steve can already hear Olivia giggling.

He can see the car through the window. It really is a thing of beauty, and Steve says that with about as much appreciation as someone who doesn’t know a single thing about cars can. The navy paint job shines in the early afternoon sun, dappled blue through the trees, subtle in a way Steve has never really though the Camaro could be. 

“Hey, sugar,” Billy swings into store, and that’s definitely Olivia making suspicious coughing noises over his shoulder. _Sugar_ sends goosebumps up his spine, a warm flush of pink across his cheeks. They’d agreed pet-names were fine, essential to their ruse, but Steve hadn’t expected them to start so soon.

 _Sugar_. Billy has a sweet tooth. Goddammit. 

“Hi, baby,” Steve replies, just to be contrite, even as butterflies fill his stomach.

Billy grins back at him, slowly, like he’s enjoying this. Probably, if the way Steve can feel heat radiating up his chest is anything to go by. He’s red as a tomato already.

“Gotta start paying your dues,” Billy says to Steve, handing over his loyalty card to Olivia at the cash register, who dutifully punches a whole through it.

“Put it on my tab, Liv,” he says, and because Steve doesn’t really want Billy finding that she knows, “I lost a bet.”

Billy chuckles, as he moves down the counter, shoots him a wink that has him fumbling the portafilter and spilling ground coffee everywhere.

An entire week of this.

What the fuck was Steve thinking. 

* * *

They arrive in Hawkins that afternoon, and Steve can feel the world collapsing around him.

The next week is going to torture.

Steve thinks it’s absurd that they even have to be here for a week – originally Nancy wanted it to be two. “So you can come to my hens night,” she’d explained, when she first gave him the invite. Steve couldn’t have imagined anything worse. Instead, Steve gave some excuse about not being able to take that much time off from work, even though he definitely could have.

So now Steve has crammed having lunch with just about everyone he knows in the one week. On top of attending a wedding. On top of fake dating Billy.

By some miracle, his parents are out of town. Which means that his childhood home is standing empty, with more rooms than Steve cares for. By some sick twist of fate, Nancy insisted on them crashing in her and Jonathan’s spare room.

He remembers _that_ conversation with the feeling of missing a bullet.

Because Billy had been right, Dustin _had_ already told everyone. Including Nancy.

So when Steve had called, to tell her they were coming, she’d picked up the phone with “what’s this about _you_ dating _Billy Hargrove?”_

And sure, they’ve put everything behind them by now, because they are responsible adults who know how to communicate – Nancy _has_ a communications degree for God’s sake – but they’ve drifted. Since high school. Since everything. He’s only seen Nancy a handful of times since moving to Chicago.

But Nancy knew him better than anyone at one point, probably still knows him better than he knows himself, so Steve hadn’t been looking forward to the interrogation over his pretend love life.

Billy pulls the car in beside Nancy’s tiny Cooper.

Steve feels like his heart is about to stop.

Then Nancy’s running out, yelling his name, and gathering him into a hug.

It takes him a second to process that, his arms wrapping around her and oh – her head still fits perfectly under his chin.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says, muffled into his jumper.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” he says, small note of melancholy creeping in.

Billy coughs, and they break apart.

If this was happening to anyone other than Steve, he’d laugh. It’s comical, the way Nancy looks between him, Billy, the two duffle bags in Billy’s hands. For thirty seconds, it’s just pure, horrifying silence.

Steve realises then, that this is the first time Nancy’s seen Billy since they left.

He honestly hasn’t changed, not much, looks wise at least. Even now, he’s in ripped jeans and Doc Martens, blonde curls spilling over the collar of his shirt. But his edges are softer, now, no longer jagged and sharp enough to cut.

Nancy doesn’t know that though, not really.

The thought flashes through his mind – Billy only came back to Hawkins for him.

Case in point.

“Hey, Byers-to-be,” Billy says, fake smile plastered across his face. “Where can I dump these?”

Nancy fake laughs in return, “Oh right, come in, I’ll give you a tour.”

Steve follows Nancy inside, Billy following him, and Steve swears he hears Billy’s quiet snort.

Maybe this week won’t be completely terrible after all.

Nancy shows them around, and Steve has to admit it, the house is really nice. Charming, in that old 80s aesthetic kind of way, with the whacky kitchen tiles and small bathroom.

The three of them turn a corner, and Nancy says, “Here’s the spare room.”

There’s only one bed.

 _Of course_ , there’s only one bed. Because they’re a _couple_.

“I’ll let you guys get settled, I’m sure it was a long drive,” Nancy says while Steve has a small heart attack.

Billy pushes past Steve into the room as Nancy disappears. Puts their bags on the bed, side by side. Turns around in a slow circle, gaze coming back to Steve, eyebrow ticking up in question.

Steve’s feet are glued to the floor.

“What’d you think would happen, Harrington?” Sarcasm drips off every word.

Steve forces himself inside, shuts the door so there’s less of a chance Nancy overhears.

“We’ll take turns,” Steve can hear himself say. “Between the bed and the floor.”

Billy nods.

Steve flops on top of the bed, dramatic, “My turn first.”

“Excuse me,” Billy says, and Steve jolts when fingers wrap around his ankle. “Just who did you rope into this? I should have the bed first.”

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, shaking his leg from Billy’s grip to sit upright.

“If you flinch every time we touch, no one will believe we’re dating.”

That’s – fair. Also definitely true.

“Right.”

“Right,” Billy mimics him. “You realise you’re the one you got us into this mess?”

“I know –”

“We need to sell it, or no one will ever leave you alone.”

Steve shivers at that, like someone just walked over his grave. Because he never breathed a word of that to Billy. Yet, somehow, he’s managed to figure it out anyways.

(Somewhere, in between the late nights in front of the couch and shared breakfasts, Steve making coffee and Billy flipping pancakes over the stovetop, they became friends.

It took a long fucking time for them to reach a point where they could even be in the same room as one another.

It took an even longer time for them to even talk about _why._

Steve remembers the night that Billy told him about his parents, why they left California, because Neil found him with a _boy._ God, Steve almost cried, because no one ever deserved to go through that.

Steve remembers the night that he told Billy about _his_ parents, their constant absences, how coming home felt like walking into a void every day after school, how much it hurt when he and Nancy broke up.

After that, it was easier to talk to each other.

Somewhere, in between Billy coming out to him and Steve spilling his guts all over the floor, they became friends.)

It shouldn’t be that surprising.

“We should probably,” Billy says, drawing Steve’s attention back, and Steve feels an odd sense of satisfaction at the embarrassed look on his face, “figure out what we’re comfortable with.”

It’s Steve’s turn to nod, even as he feels the trepidation creeping in.

“Right,” he manages to choke out. “Hand holding?”

“Fine,” Billy replies.

“Pet names.” 

“We already do that.”

“Right, shit, forgot.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Uh. Kissing?”

“On the cheek.”

Steve nods.

“Maybe we should, like, actually,” Steve says, tries to downplay how the concept of kissing Billy makes him feel. “Just to make sure we have chemistry.”

Billy gives him a _look_ that Steve can’t make heads or tails of.

“In my defence, you’re the one mentioned that the kids are like a dog with a bone.”

Billy rolls his eyes, “You mean, _Dustin_ is like a dog with a bone.”

But then Billy is moving, folding his leg underneath him and twisting to face Steve.

“Don’t make this weird,” he says, voice low, even as his hands come up to frame Steve’s face.

Warmth. That’s all Steve can process for the first five seconds. Billy’s fingers are warm, his palm even warmer against his cheek. He can feel the calluses, rough from his work as a mechanic. His brain short circuits as Billy brushes a thumb just under his eye, and it doesn’t take much to wonder how those fingers would –

Steve can’t help himself, has to break the tension or he’ll die, “You’re the one who agreed to it.” 

Billy huffs, an angry sound, twisting his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulling him forward and –

And then they’re kissing, in his ex-girlfriend’s spare room.

Steve’s mind goes completely, entirely blank for a blissful, wonderful fifteen seconds.

Billy lips are soft, is his first thought. Second thought is how good at kissing they are. Together. Kissing. He’s kissing Billy. _They’re kissing._ He and Billy.

A moan breaks in the back of his throat, quiet and barely there, but the sound makes them both freeze.

Billy pulls back. Warm hands shake themselves out of his hair.

Steve almost wants to crack a joke again, something about how they definitely have chemistry, but Billy looks at him again, those blue eyes guarded, and he stops himself.

Billy walks out of the room without saying a word, and Steve feels like a fuckup all over again.

* * *

**king of the espresso machine  
**send help  
23:33

**king of the espresso machine  
**olivia I’m not kidding  
23:33

**coffee queen  
**wait what  
23:36

 **king of the espresso machine  
**fuck  
23:36

 **coffee queen  
**what happened!!  
23:36

  
**king of the espresso machine  
**we kissed  
23:36  
  


**coffee queen  
**STEVE  
23:36

 **coffee queen  
**OH MY GOD  
23:37

 **coffee queen  
**DETAILS  
23:37

 **king of the espresso machine  
**it’s my fault, just like this entire  
situation  
23:38

 **coffee queen  
**was it a bad kiss  
23:38

 **king of the espresso machine  
**....no  
23:38

 **coffee queen  
**steve you can’t just tell me  
that you kissed YOUR CRUSH  
who you are also FAKE DATING  
and then disappear on me  
23:55

 **king of the espresso machine  
**it was the best kiss i’ve ever had  
23:57

 **coffee queen  
**then what’s the problem?  
23:57

 **king of the espresso machine  
**liv. the best kiss i’ve ever had and  
he's my best friend and  
we aren’t actually dating?  
23:58

 **coffee queen  
**oh, right  
23:58  
  
**coffee queen  
**fair point  
23:58

 **coffee queen  
**sorry  
23:58  
  
**coffee queen  
**you alright?  
23:59

 **coffee queen  
**steve?  
01:13

* * *

Steve wakes early that morning, on account of sleeping on the fucking floor.

Doesn’t look at his phone.

Billy, still asleep, looks younger than what he is. His hair, like burnt gold in the pale dawn light, cascades across the pillow. There’s a knot in Steve’s stomach.

He can't stop thinking about their kiss. 

He only has himself to blame.

The four of them had dinner in last night, crammed around the small kitchen table.

They spent the hour catching up, and Steve would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice.

Nancy is working at the local paper, investigative journalist in the making. He calls her _Nancy Drew_ and she laughs, carefree. It feels like before everything went to shit, almost, before they broke up, before he left. Jonathan is freelancing, still doing photography. Steve can’t help feeling a little guilty, even after apologising all those years ago for smashing his camera. In turn, Steve tells him about the café, the occasional odd customer, Billy chiming in every now and again.

He’s proud of them, in a way that’s too complex to name, for how far they’ve come.

Nancy and Jonathan, at least, seem to be taking the stance of pretending like nothing is out of the ordinary. They haven’t asked any questions, which Steve finds a strange miracle, but it’s a blessed relief compared to what he knows the kids will be like when they end up seeing them.

Steve makes his way into the kitchen, only to find Nancy at the sink.

She gestures towards the kettle with a soapy hand, “There’s coffee over there.”  
  
The coffee, it turns out, is store-bought freeze-dried shit that Steve wouldn’t touch if he absolutely didn’t have to.

But alas, if anyone can make a cup of instant coffee taste remotely good, it’s him.

Nancy starts chatting as Steve boils the kettle. Tells him that Jonathan is already gone for the day, for an early morning shoot. About how her mom has gone full mother-of-the-bride without even needing to, and honestly Steve’s not surprised. He feels bad for Jonathan, though. He knows what’s it’s like to be on the receiving end of Mrs Wheeler’s perfected glare.

Steve sips at his coffee, too sweet to cover the acidic after taste. Nancy’s in the middle of telling him about her most recent report when they hear footsteps, muffled against the laminate floor.

The knot in Steve’s stomach grows.

“Morning, sugar,” comes Billy’s raspy voice from behind him, and Steve barely has a chance to turn before an arm is slipped around his waist, hand flat against his stomach and Billy’s chin hooked over his shoulder.

Billy’s a warm, radiating heat plastered from shoulder to knee against him. The pet name flusters him something awful. Steve can feel the blush spreading across his face. Billy presses an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, nose tracing the shape of his jaw, lips coming to rest at the curve of his ear. It’s only because they’re so fucking _close_ that Steve hears the hitch in Billy’s breathing before he asks, “Coffee?” 

Nancy goes quiet in front of him.

“Coffee machine’s back in Chicago, babe,” Steve replies, soft, in a way that makes his heart ache.

Billy huffs, forehead coming to rest against the slope of Steve’s neck and shoulder. Steve brushes him thumb over Billy’s knuckles where they’re locked together across his abdomen.

Billy sneaks a hand to steal his cup, sniffs at it with his eyes closed, “What’s this then?”  
  
“Instant,” Steve replies, retrieving the cup. “You would hate it.”

“You’ve spoiled me.” 

“I just know you,” Steve laughs, even as Billy tries to steal the cup again, tutting and shaking loose from Billy’s grip. His arms tighten around him, refusing to let go.

Coffee is coffee, after all, unless you have Steve to make you a cup every day.

Billy hums, content, tucked up against him in the early morning.

God, he wishes this was real.

Then Nancy talks, and brings reality crashing back down.

“So,” she draws it out, and Steve doesn’t need to guess the next thing she says is, “this was unexpected.”

“You know him,” Billy says, not lifting his head. “Wouldn’t know love if it hit him upside the head.”

“Hey! I _was_ the one who asked you out.”

Nancy laughs as Billy replies, “Only took me making you my emergency contact for you to.”

That had actually happened. Billy had sprained his ankle at work so badly his boss had driven him to the hospital. Steve had been in the middle of his own shift, when his phone rang, the other end asking if he knew a William Hargrove.

Steve had been scared out of his mind, half convinced already that something had happened before the nurse had even said “he’s fine, just sprained his ankle, but I’m afraid you’ll need to come in as his emergency contact.”

Steve had ended up catching an Uber to the garage to pick up the Camaro. Billy’s boss had taken one look at him and handed over the keys without a word. It was only later, after he’d had freaked out at Billy laid up in the emergency bed, that Billy told his boss that Steve would be around to collect the car, pick him up from the hospital.

All without even texting Steve once. It made him wonder when he became so predictable.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Nancy coos. “Tell me about it!”

Steve feels sick.

At least Nancy’s buying it.

* * *

The biggest hurdle is selling it to Dustin and Max.

Arguably, the two people who know them best, in the way that siblings do.

It just so happens they can kill two birds with one stone, and so Steve organises brunch with the both of them, as well as Lucas.

Steve argues that the three of them will cancel each other out. Billy remains skeptical.

Billy and Steve are already seated inside of Hawkin’s only diner, both halfway through a cup of slightly-better-than-instant coffee when the trio walks in.

They aren’t kids anymore; but that doesn’t stop Steve from referring to them as such.

“Hey, kiddos.”

“I refuse to believe you two are dating,” Dustin exclaims for the entire diner to hear.

“Hello to you too, Henderson.” Billy drawls, quickly tangling his fingers with Steve’s under the table.

Steve is proud of himself for barely flinching. He pulls on Billy’s hand until they sit entwined on the table.

“Suck it up, punk.”

Dustin’s jaw drops, “Oh my God.”

Max shakes her head across from them. Lucas just looks as confused as his girlfriend.

They chat for a while, Steve deflecting nearly all the questions about their ‘relationship’ to Billy, who spins tales better than anyone he knows. Apparently, this thing between them has actually been a long time coming, they’ve merged their respective vinyl collections, and Billy’s already planning on crashing Pine’s Christmas party. Max looks increasingly skeptical. By the time the waiter arrives with their food, Steve’s managed to finagle Dustin into ranting about his college courses, a topic he knows Dustin will talk incessantly about if no one stops him.

“You get that every time we go out,” Billy says, as the waiter hand’s over Steve’s avocado toast, cutting off Dustin mid-rant.

“I’m a starving millennial,” Steve waves his knife around in a ‘sue me’ gesture. “Leave me alone.”

Billy leans in closer, grinning at him. Steve’s loses himself a little in that smile.

“Don’t think I will,” Billy murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, just loud enough for the kids to overhear.

Dustin gags.

This was worth it just for that.

Halfway through their breakfast, Steve’s phone flashes with a notification the same time that Billy’s does.

As he picks it up, he realises Dustin has stopped talking.

“What’d you do?” He asks as he swipes open Instagram.

Dustin gives him puppy eyes, that still work even after like, seven years, “Nothing.”

Then Steve looks down, and it takes every effort not to melt into the booth at Dustin’s most recent post.

It’s captioned **breakfast with dad and my future dad-in-law** and Max and Lucas have both already liked it.

His cheeks are already flushed, he can tell.

In the picture, Steve is happily oblivious, clearly talking if the way he’s pointing wildly with the fork is anything to go by. Billy on the other hand, is looking at him. There’s a soft smile on his face, much softer than Steve’s ever seen in real life. Like he hung the stars in the sky. Almost as if he’s in love.

But Steve knows the truth.

Billy’s shares it to his story without comment, makes sure to tap it to show Dustin’s caption to his ten thousand followers.

The truth _hurts._

It starts hurting even worse, when Max says, “Your dad is going to be there.”

Billy goes still beside him, mug halfway raised to his mouth. Steve can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

Billy sets the mug back down with an ominous click, “What?”

Max shrugs, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“But – why?”

It’s Lucas who answers, “He’s work buddies with Mike’s dad, apparently.”

Steve boggles, a bit at that, because that means _his_ parents are also work buddies with Billy’s father.

He’s starting to understand more why they’re conveniently out of town.

Billy looks at him, opens his mouth to say something and then –

“Don’t worry,” Dustin cuts in. “If he says anything, I’ll deck him.”

Billy just stares at him. At least Dustin has inadvertently confirmed how much they need to worry about Neil.

Billy goes quiet after that, and Steve knows he’s in his head about it. They had talked about it – what if they ran into Neil. Billy had seemed confident enough that they wouldn’t, but this changes things.

By the time they finish eating, Dustin is thoroughly convinced. Max less so, Steve thinks. As long as she doesn’t find out the truth, everything will be fine.

It’s only on their drive home that Steve realises nothing felt _different._

That it felt _normal_ for Billy to flirt with him like that, to press his lips to his cheeks like that, to look at it him like that.

Impending doom fills Steve’s chest. This week couldn’t end fast enough.

* * *

The thing is, this week couldn’t end fast enough.

Steve is a fool. Certified, even. It takes a special kind of moron to orchestrate something like this. Convincing your crush, who happens to be your housemates, who happens to be someone you have a complex history with in the first place, to play his pretend boyfriend. Especially just to attend your ex-girlfriend’s wedding, just to prove you’ve moved on.

The thing is, the more they keep up the charade, the faster Steve falls.

Billy is – probably the best pretend boyfriend he could’ve asked for. He’s kind, considerate, caring. In hindsight, he’s not even that different than the Billy before _,_ just freer with his affections. Steve keeps coming back to that morning in Nancy’s kitchen, wrapped in his arms and feeling _safe_ for the first time in a long time.

The thing is, he doesn’t want this week to end. 

* * *

He wakes from the nightmare suddenly; like the too-bright flare of dawn rapid across the darkness. There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, his breath is laboured, and it takes a disconcertingly long time for Steve to realise he’s not home in Chicago.

“Billy,” he whispers into the dark. “You awake?”

“What is it, Harrington?” Billy whispers back just as quiet, voice hoarse in that sleep-warm kind of way.

“Please don’t sleep on the floor.”

Within five minutes Steve’s ready to give up, even though his heart is still pumping a mile a minute and he doesn’t know how to calm down, before the bed dips beside him with Billy’s weight.

Steve doesn’t dare turn. Billy shuffles himself around, Steve sensing when he pulls the covers up and over.

“Billy,” Steve whispers again. “I can’t sleep.”

It’s not fair, really – Steve knows that Billy knows what he means by that, that he’s gotten too used to the weighted blanket that is never too far out of his reach back home. It’s not fair, really – Steve _knows_ that Billy knows that he knows this.

Billy slips an arm around his torso, heavy, grounding.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles into the back of Steve’s neck.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want the light on?”

“No, it’s okay.”

Billy hums in acknowledgement. Steve can tell he’s barely awake, suddenly feels guilty for waking him up.

“I’m sorry, Billy. For this.”

He means more than just _this,_ right now, Billy’s arm a comforting weight around him. He means _this_ whole thing. The reason why they have to share a room in the first place, why all their friends think they’re dating.

It’s quiet. The only sound is their breathing. Steve is drifting into sleep when Billy replies, “S’okay, sugar. I got you.”

Steve is half asleep. Which is why he thinks, in the morning, that he made that up in his head.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawns crisp and bright. Light spills over the bed and it’s with something coloured in regret-anticipation-oh-God that Steve feels the weight of Billy’s arms still wrapped around him.

They escape the house for breakfast, because Mrs Wheeler is there and Steve and Billy both have their own reasons for avoiding her. Also, apparently, breakfast the day of your daughter’s wedding is important, and thus chaotic enough to drive everyone else out of the house.

Billy ends up driving them all around town before heading into the suburb over, declaring that they “fuck it, the ceremony isn’t until 2 anyways, and I need a good cup of coffee.”

Steve doesn’t disagree.

He can never escape Hawkins fast enough, whenever he’s here. And, at the very least, he won’t have to keep pretending like he’s in love with Billy while actually being in love with Billy.

They take their time making their way back, because even Billy can interpret his silence as _I don’t want to be here._

By the time they return to Nancy’s, she’s dolled up to the nines. She is beautiful, the dress five different kinds of lace, looks like she is floating above water every step she takes.

Steve can’t help but feel bittersweet about this.

Billy, beside him in the doorway, squeezes his hand, tugs him past so they can get ready.

The ceremony is beautiful. But it still fucking hurts.

It’s a peculiar kind of torture, watching your first love get married to the guy she told you not to worry about. It’s a peculiar kind of torture, when you consider everything they’ve gone through.

They sit towards the back, next to Max and Lucas on one side and Dustin on the other, filling up the entire row. The church is filled with what feels like the entire town. Up the front he can see Mrs Byers, Will, Mike in the front row.

They all look so happy.

The ceremony passes in a haze, and then they’re moving towards the reception area.

Here comes the real test of their method acting.

Steve, for all that he resents the way his parents would drag him along to their work functions, is grateful for the way he’s able to slip into something just a touch sharper than his usual self, something at ease with this crowd, something that can work the room as easily as breathing.

He tucks his hand into Billy’s elbow and says, “Let’s go, my good man.”

Steve, given the chance, introduces Billy as “my partner, the mechanic,” to which Billy replies, picking up on the game, with “and he’s my own personal coffee machine.”

He hears, more than once from his parent’s friends, that they must be so glad he’s found someone to settle down with. Billy keeps shooting him glances whenever a well-meaning mother says this, like he’s figured out half of the reason why he blurted out to Dustin his name all those weeks ago.

(Steve feels lonelier than ever, with Billy just out of reach.)

He can feel people’s eyes on them as they walk around.

It would be fun, if it weren’t for how they felt, scorching the back of his neck with their hatred.

Steve fucking hates Hawkins.

By the time the reception starts dying down, Steve is wine-drunk and confident enough to tug Billy onto the dancefloor, regardless of what people might think.

Billy’s hand burns through his suit jacket where it rests on his hip.

[The music is low, soft,](https://youtu.be/giEOcBLcnfE) and Steve feels like he’s in another world. Billy is _gorgeous_ under the fairy lights that cover the ceiling, in that cherry-red button up of his. He’s something else _entirely._

Steve’s arms end up draped over Billy’s shoulders, fingers playing with his hair as they sway together.

They stay like that, for a few songs, slowly turning around the dancefloor.

Billy’s nose nudges his, “This wasn’t so bad.”

“Coloured me surprised,” Steve shoots back, not even moving an inch away. “I thought you were going to kill me when I told you.”

“I was tempted.” 

Steve laughs, “No free food then.”

“Oh, shit,” is Billy’s dry reply, before they both fall silent then.

Billy, hands clasped at the small of Steve’s back, tips his forehead just enough they rest temple to temple. Steve closes his eyes. He’s safe, in Billy’s arms.

It feels so natural.

“Thank you,” he whispers, eyes still shut. “I would be lost without you.”

The too-close click of a dress shoe cuts off Billy's reply, causes Steve's eyes to fly open.

“William,” is the death knell over Steve’s shoulder, as Billy’s dad enters his peripheral.

He doesn’t see so much as feel Billy tense from head to toe.

“Sir,” Billy says, peeling away from Steve and standing in front of him.

Steve can tell from one word alone that he wasn’t expecting to see Neil Hargrove during this trip, as if Max hadn’t warned them that he’d be at the wedding. As if he still believed they wouldn’t run into him.

Steve’s never seen someone so _furious_ before. In the same moment, he realises Billy definitely underplayed why, exactly, they moved away from California.

“How dare you,” Neil growls. “What did I tell you would happen, if you ever showed your face around here again?”

Steve doesn’t want to know the answer

Billy is silent beside him.

“You will answer me.”

“No.” Billy’s face is full of defiance. “I don’t think I will, actually.”

“You piece of _shit_.”

Steve steps forward, even as Billy grasps at his arm to stop him, “Who asked for your opinion?”

“Shut your mouth, faggot,” Neil steps forward.

Billy and Steve talk over each other, “Don’t call him that.” “Or what?”

Neil takes another step closer, “I’ll teach you a fucking lesson, William, seeing as you didn’t pick up my last one.”

Steve realises it’s silent. The music has stopped.

Everyone’s looking at them.

Neil, obsessed with appearances, suddenly realises he has everyone’s attention.

He makes a placating gesture, “I’m just a concerned father.”

It’s so far from the truth that Steve laughs, the sound bordering on hysterical. 

“You’re a bigot, is what,” the alcohol bolsters his confidence. “You don’t deserve to talk to him, let alone call yourself his father.”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“C’mon,” Billy mutters, hand tugging at Steve’s. “Let’s get out of here.”

Neil’s vitriol follows them out the door. Billy doesn’t look back.

Steve doesn’t remember exactly how they get back to Nancy and Jonathan’s place – free of them, thank god, already off on their honeymoon – but he blinks and he’s there. Grapples for his phone to see what the time is, only to find out that it’s dead.

Billy hasn’t said a single thing at all, just slid down the wall the minute they go inside, like he can't keep himself up any longer. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Steve says, “He isn’t worth it.”

Billy looks at him, and Steve’s heart _breaks_.

Billy is lost, like he’s untethered, floating away.

It’s the wine that makes him scramble into Billy lap, hands clammy against his face, just to look him in the eye. 

“Listen to me, Billy, he isn’t even worth the brain power to think about, okay?”

Billy’s fingers wrap around Steve’s wrists, voice low when he says, “I know.”

“I’m sorry he’s such a prick,” Steve is rambling, he knows with some third-person awareness. “You deserve so much more, Billy, I can’t even tell you –”

Steve doesn’t think he imagines it, the hitch in Billy’s breathing when he replies, “Tell me.”

“You’re so kind, and gentle – look at you, you’re here, pretending to be my boyfriend when you could’ve said no. So good to me,” Steve unintentionally echoes from that Instagram post. “I don’t deserve you.”

Steve looks up, and all he can see is blue.

“You do, Steve,” Billy’s voice is rough, on the edge of crying.

But Steve shakes his head, “No, no, no.”

“If this week has taught me anything, it’s that I love you.”

Steve stops breathing.

“Steve?”

It’s enough for him to snap out of it, to tip himself forward, as if on a precipice, and press his lips to Billy’s. His arms wrap around Billy’s neck to pull him closer. They’re already so close – it’s impossible. Steve tries to melt into him, the hot slide of his mouth, the nip of his teeth.

As far as second kisses go, it’s better than the first.

“Say it again.”  
  
“I love you,” Billy whispers against his lips. “I’m in love with you, sugar.”

“You mean to tell me,” Steve says in between kisses, “that we could’ve actually been doing this the entire time?”

“Probably only the last couple of days,” Billy admits, softly, looking up into Steve’s eyes with a reverence he doesn’t feel like he deserves.

“What changed?”

“Just, I realised, how much you mean to me, watching you with Dustin, and Max, and Nancy. And you getting angry at my dad was pretty hot, too.”

Steve whacks him on the chest, “If you ever mention your father to me again…”

“Noted.” Billy grins. “So, how long have you liked _liked_ me?”

“You’ll laugh.”

Billy kisses the corner of his mouth, gentle, “Out with it.”

“I’ve – God, this is embarrassing.”

“We just made out for like, ten minutes, Harrington.”

Steve turns his face away, “I told Dustin we were dating because I was sick of them pitying me for being single.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, just rubs a comforting hand up Steve’s back, lets him continue.

“And,” Steve takes a breath, turns back to Billy, confesses, “I’ve loved you for a while. You were the only person I could think of to say when he asked who I was bringing here.”

“So, you decided to what? Fake date me into really dating me?”

“I hadn’t actually expected it to work.”

“You create intricate rituals that allow you to touch the skin of other men,” Billy is laughing, and then so is Steve, because God, they really do deserve each other.

* * *

**coffee queen  
**STEVE  
10:03

 **coffee queen  
**HARRINGTON  
10:20  
  
**coffee queen  
**i swear to god if your  
phone is dead i-  
11:47

 **coffee queen  
**well i guess it must be  
14:34

 **coffee queen  
**i’ll see you at work tomorrow  
14:34  
  
**coffee queen  
**just make sure your boy  
records your reaction to  
his intsa post tho for me?  
thanks x  
14:35

* * *

They’re back home in Chicago, after a very _long_ car ride, in which Steve point blank refused to stop touching Billy, whether it was a hand on his thigh or playing with his hair, calling it a sin against God, considering all the time they’d wasted.

Once Steve _finally_ turns his phone on, he’s bombarded with notifications.

It takes a solid five minutes for him to figure out why.

Billy posted a video. Of them. From the wedding. And Steve’s tagged in it.

They’re dancing. Steve’s finger’s in Billy’s hair. Intimate. The background is a blur of a million lights, star-like. The song sounds muffled through the speaker, romantic in a way Steve can’t quiet name. They turn, and whoever took the video caught the moment Billy’s nose nudges his.

And Billy, secret sap that he apparently is, captioned it with **i was meant to love you.** The video loops and those lyrics spill from the speaker.

Max, because who else, must have taken it.

Steve flops himself on his bed, phone clutched to his chest.

He feels the bed dip, and then suddenly Billy is hovering above him.

“Did you see the video?”

“I cannot _believe_ you posted that.”

“Well, had the let the word know we were actually dating somehow.”

“Dude, it was so gay.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sugar, but we’re currently being very gay.”

“Did you tell Max? About us not-dating?”

Billy shakes his head, “No, that was your secret.”

"She probably figured it out, anyways."   
  
"Probably." 

Steve hums, and suddenly thinks of –

“But do I still have to pay that four months’ worth of rent, though?”

Billy grins at him, cheeky, ducking down to press a kiss to his lips, “A deal’s a deal, sugar.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> y'all.... it was so fckn nice to write about my boys again, felt so cathartic. that being said, this fic whent from about five pages to 32 in the span of two days, which is absolutely wild. i think i've hit my writing quota for the next few months, lol. 
> 
> i kind of maybe want to write a sequel to this involving the christmas party? or perhaps Billy's pov of this fic? let me know if you'd be interested in that >:) 
> 
> find me on tumblr [@volantium](https://volantium.tumblr.com)
> 
> edit - 'the life and times' series // billy's pov is in the works titled 'freefall' & there's also a third thing happening but that's spoilers >:) stay tuned!


End file.
